Wishing It Was
by CJzilla
Summary: Every year on a certain day, General Chapuza would hold a fiesta... But this year Sartana of the Dead crashes his party. She played while he danced and the dead felt alive once more. Implied Sartana/Chapuza. One-shot


Hola everyone! CJzilla here! This is a one-shot on how the undead view death and life. I attended a Santana concernt not too long ago and I can't get it out of my head. His music has a pulse, a soul that blew my mind. That... and I can't get dancing zombies out of my head since watching that El Tigre episode "The Thing That Ate Frida's Brain"...

This is all a fan's imagination running with her... There isn't much info on General Chapuza or Sartana of the Dead's background published so this is all speculation. Correct me if I'm wrong.

As I trash this city, alls CJzilla has to roar is this: R&R! Love on me... Hate on me... I don't give a churro.

AN: CJzilla owns nothing of El Tigre. I do own your reviews and sanity!

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_Beauty and grace is what touches me most/ Good times can put me in fear/ I always feel safe when things are bad/ So I cannot let you come near/ I always feel alive when the death bell rings/ Now you've come and bring out the tears in me/ Pain never makes me cry but happiness does/ It's so strange to watch your life walk by/ Wishing it was_

_**Wishing It Was**_ by Eagle-Eye Cherry & Santana of the Supernatural Album

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**Wishing It Was**

The evensong was alive with music, rhythm and fiesta. Trumpets made lively melody, killing the monotony of just another summer evening. Steel string guitars sang, giving vital movement to blast away life's weariness. Drums pumped a heartbeat and reawakened the city's soul. Music was definitely something magical that could bring the dead to life.

Though Miracle City was ablaze with laughter, activity and bright lights, the city's central graveyard was stagnant and allay. A barrier of iron fencing separated the dead's final resting place from the land of the living. Bathed in the sun's fading light headstones stood like faithful guardsmen, standing watch over the dead with honorable silence. But tonight, there was a quiet visitor in an older quarter of the cemetery.

General Chapuza stood over an old headstone, hands neatly folded behind his back as he read the inscription:

"Yoskar Luis Manuelle

Son, Father, Husband, Beloved

1900-1942"

Chapuza felt a smirk curl onto his pasty, blue face. Reading this always got a smile out of him. The funny thing was this man never really died and the sick part was… this was HIS headstone.

Yoskar Luis Manuelle was General Chapuza's real name. Thinking back on the time of this "death", the zombie leader never failed to feel amused. He died in his prime but lived on; though living as a rancid zombie was not life.

He watched the grass under his feet move with the warm summer breeze. Reminiscing about his death and revival helped the fading memory of when he was once vulnerable. Chapuza could barely recall being able to bleed; that inky red substance had long since disintegrated and no longer moved through his undead body. Just before his impeding demise, the forty-two year old man weighed the costs and benefits to living eternally as an undead corpse. He wanted immorality and made a vow to live as the undead for the rest of… his "life". But now that time was a crumbling memory that the zombie general had to reconstruct lest it be lost forever.

Yoskar Luis Manuelle lived on. Chapuza watched generations come and generations die. This had happened for so long that the zombie leader was accustomed to death. Thoughtful times like this, Chapuza would envy a fresh grave. The newly deceased person no longer had to survive in this contradicting and often cruel world. You had to be merciless and ruthless just to eek out a living and that… was no way to live. There were moments, much like this one, that life felt like a pain in the undead neck. Perhaps he was a fool to have taken that vow of immortality…

"Grandfather!" Chapuza heard a young but gravely voice running up to him. The undead man turned his head slightly, his yellow eyes coming to his addresser.

Che, his young yet undead zombie grandson was running up to him. The zombie boy ran well, and if he was still alive, Chapuza would bet that he'd be a professional futbol player. The thirteen-year-old undead child slowed from his run and stopped before his grandfather. If Che still had breath in his lungs, Chapuza could picture him gasping for air.

"Grandfather! De party has all ready started! Do chu not want to dance?" The zombie boy scratched his scalp under his wild, brown, cadaver hair.

Ah… dancing. The one thing that brought Chapuza's head out of his empty coffin. The undead man sighed, pleased that his grandson's heart hadn't completely decayed away and returned his silent yellow eyes to his headstone.

"Why do chu do dis every summer? Who's buried here?" Che questioned, peering at the inscription. His grandfather always went out of his way to come to this crumbly old headstone.

Chapuza never really talked about his demise, let alone to his beloved grandson. The undead man watched as the zombie boy walked over his grave and kicked his headstone.

"Serio; whose grave is dis anyway? I bet dey wish dey were like us, huh grandfather?" The undead boy gave his grandfather a smile that was discolored and uneven. Chapuza felt a wave of indifference wash over him as he turned on his heel and walked toward the exit of the boneyard.

"Mine." He simply replied. He heard Che gasp and his little undead feet patter to his side.

"Really?!" Che's eyes were wide as he walked beside his grandfather. "But if dat is chur grave… den why are chu not in it?"

The boy's innocence outweighed the profoundness of his question. A tiny smirk came back to Chapuza's face. Why was he not in his grave right now? Because he was selfish and probably short-sighted enough to make a vow of eternal life. Some would call it bliss to be immortal while others would call it a curse.

"On de day of my funeral, they lowered in a weighted coffin while I stood right over there and watched." He pointed to an old leafy tree. Just like on the day of his services, the tree remained unchanged. "I was never buried. Just like you."

He ran his undead fingers through his grandson's matted fresh-out-of-the-grave hair. The thirteen-year-old zombie boy giggled and swatted away his grandfather's hand.

"Today is de anniversary of my death." Chapuza looked at the fading sunlight over Miracle City. Che became silent.

"Oh… Is dat why chu hold dis party every summer dis time?" He asked. Chapuza nodded.

"Not'ing like a little party to celebrate living dead!" The zombie man gave a loud laugh at that as he and his grandson walked to a nearby barn that was ritualistically the site of the BIGGEST zombie party for miles.

Che then gave a loud, gut-busting laugh.

"HA! Grandfather, chur name is… (giggle) _Yoskar_!" With that the thirteen-year-old boy flopped on his back and guffawed. He laughed so hard that his undead head separated from his undead body and was rolling around the graveyard's grass.

THAT sent a little twitch of irritation to Chapuza's normally calm face.

"Yoskar is a very respectable name, ch'young man!" The undead man snarled, his arms getting rigid and it wasn't from rigor-mortis. That didn't quiet Che's laughter.

Chapuza face-palmed. His name should not be that funny; he took on "General Chapuza" since it was his nickname from the military. Finally Che took a big breath of air.

"Dat is funny." The undead boy snickered but he immediately silenced when he saw that look on his grandfather's blue face.

"Chu are to tell no one of this, Che. As far as anyone knows, I am General Chapuza." There was a twitch in the undead man's eye. Che snickered one last time before his body went looking for his dismembered head.

Chapuza sighed and motioned for his grandson to follow.

"Come. We are late." Grabbing Che's body and snatching his head from the ground, Chapuza pasted his grandson back together. The two zombies walked back to the barn pumping with fiesta music.

Che kicked the barn door open and raced inside.

"¡ARRE!" The thirteen-year-old zombie shouted, catching all of the zombies' attention. "To chur feet! ¡Presente General Chapuza!"

And the zombie leader walked into the barn, hands neatly folded and that sinister smirk on his face. At the sight of their pasty and conniving leader, the zombies stiffly stood and clapped their dead hands. Chapuza nodded, sort of a modification to bowing which he had grown tired of repeating.

"Señoras y señores, welcome to de fiesta!" Applause. "Please enjoy de música, de brain buffet and de dance floor. Now… LET'S GET DIS PARTY STARTED!"

At his grandfather's cue, Che ran out into the middle of the barn, tossed his undead arms high into the air and pointed to the zombie DJ.

"KICK IT!" Che cheered and the DJ put the needle to the record. Immediately music blared, the party lights lit up the dingy barn and zombies swamped the dance floor.

Following his grandson Chapuza felt the music flood into his cadaver body. Closing his eyes, Chapuza let the music reheat his soul. The bass was thumping at the lowest ear-shattering decibel and it pulsed through his hollow chest, acting in the place of his lifeless heart. For a second, he felt a heartbeat and blood rushing through his corpse. Chapuza imagined that he was alive once more.

Just as the zombies were getting into their party, the barn door was suddenly blown open. The explosion rocked the building and tore that needle off of the record. The DJ zombie didn't have time to dive out of the way when the huge wooded door instantly flattened him, the music and most of the lights. When the barn rumbled and more importantly, when the music stopped, all the zombies froze and whirled around to the party killer. To their shock, they saw the last person they thought would wreck _their_ party.

Sartana of the Dead.

A chorus of undead gasps shot through the suddenly still barn. General Chapuza's undead jaw fell off of his face but he caught it before it hit the floor. He was so taken aback by Miracle City's supreme undead villainess that all he could do was stare.

"Sartana of de Dead? What are _chu_ doing here?!" He saw Che address Sartana. Snapped out of his daze, Chapuza started making his way through the crowd; his nutty grandson would get blown to bits!

Sartana of the Dead had just blew in the doors of the zombies' little fiesta with a strum of her Mystic Guitar. As the dust settled, the two-hundred-year-old skeleton lady's red cadaver lips curled into a sinister grin at the looks on the stunned zombie faces. She was the last thing they expected here. Her reason for crashing the party? The same reason as the zombies; to get loose and get down. Sartana didn't expect to be welcomed but she expected to be the life of the party.

"Why I am crashing dis party, little freaky one." The undead skeleton lady explained to the young zombie child that had the guts to confront her. Reaching out she patted the child's head.

Che got angry and swatted away Sartana's hand, literally. The bone hag's was smacked high into the air and landed on the ground, at her feet. Gasps rang through the crowd and Sartana seethed.

"Impudent zombie boy." She hissed, narrowing her glowing crimson eyes dangerously. With that she brought her Mystical Guitar's head to the undead child's throat, intent on blasting him into a smoldering pile of undead ashes.

"Sartana!" A deep, sinister voice caught her attention. Looking up, she saw the crowd of zombies part and reveal their malignant leader.

General Chapuza. Sartana felt her eyes widen slightly at how poised the undead man remained. His hands were folded behind his back as he held his undead yellow eyes to her glowing crimson ones.

Walking up to the two-hundred-year-old skeleton lady, Chapuza pulled Che away and stood in the path of Sartana's black magic guitar. The thirteen-year-old zombie boy hastily ducked behind his grandfather. Now that Che was out of danger, he turned his attention to Sartana of the Dead. Chapuza calmly looked Sartana in the eye. The two-hundred-year-old skeleton lady before him could easily level the barn if she so chose to. As dangerous as Sartana was she never really concerned herself with the affairs of the living. In fact, the only dealings she had outside of her haunted prison graveyard guaranteed mischief for the living

The zombie general didn't know her opinion on zombies. Technically dead yet still maintaining flesh on their bones, zombies looked to still be among the living.

"Sartana. Of what do we humble zombies owe de grace of your presence?" Chapuza questioned elegantly.

Sartana narrowed her eyes at the undead man and eased her aim off of his body. Part of her black heart wanted to see Chapuza as a freshly deceased cadaver; but her policy about the living still stood. At the moment, she didn't know what to think of him. All she knew was that she was here.

"Curiosity." Her undead mouth blurted out. "I am curious as to why, on dis day every year, dat chu zombies throw dis celebración."

As the zombies behind him whispered and drooled Chapuza's face remained straight and relaxed. Curiosity? _Curiosity_ made her crash _his_ party?!

"This is just a simple fiesta…" Chapuza paused, then bent over and retrieved Sartana's straying hand. "To celebrate living dead."

For a few strange and elated seconds, Sartana felt as if her eyes fled her skeleton body and looked down upon her. Chapuza had managed to take her wrist into his hands and return her hand to her wrist's socket. His movement was gentle and smooth. But in just a fast second, it was done. Chapuza returned his hands to his side and calmly turned his attention back to the uninvited guest.

"I admire a loud entrance." The undead man voiced but then looked over his shoulder to the decimated music, lights and the zombie DJ crawling out from under the huge slab of wood. "However my fiesta has no more music to dance to."

All the careful planning and all the emotion that Chapuza tied up into this one night crumbled in front of him. The brain buffet was smeared all over the ceiling, the lights were totaled and the music was gone. Returning his yellow eyes to the skeleton woman, Chapuza gave her an icy glare that seemed to splinter her old bones.

"Chu have picked the wrong party to crash, Sartana." The undead man's sinister voice hit a malicious tone as he made fists with his hands. Sartana watched at the zombies behind him took a menacing step forward.

The two-hundred-year-old skeleton lady looked back at Chapuza and read the rage on his face. That made her smirk.

"HA! Chu dare to threaten Miracle City's greatest supervillainess, Chapuza?" Though she was smiling a crooked smile, Sartana narrowed her eyes at him. "With just a pluck of my steel strings, I can bring dis party down on chur head."

Chapuza would never deny that Sartana's power and picking a fight with her was suicide. But… what did he have to lose? His party was ruined, his special night was wrecked AND he was dead. Bring… it… _on_.

"Chu have three seconds to leave my fiesta or face de wrath of the zombies of Calavera." He stepped forward, getting into her face. Sartana locked eyes with the zombie leader, staring him down with unwavering evil.

Chapuza counted down the seconds in his head.

_One._

Her glowing crimson eyes did not unclench from that evil stare as she blatantly accepted his fight.

_Two._

He saw her skeleton hand lift to strum her black magic guitar.

_Thr-_

Sartana's hand came down on her strings and she strummed such a beautiful melody over her guitar that Chapuza felt like he was hit with a wall of ecstasy. Her bony fingers moved over those strings and created such a world-stopping harmony that shot through his chest and lit up his soul like a ray of sunshine after a cold rain.

Lowering her head, Sartana felt her fingers and guitar strings become one. Music was the end result of her torment and joy accumulated over the many years she had walked this earth. After letting out just a sample of her talent, Sartana pulled her fingers away from the strings and looked up to General Chapuza. Reading his face, the skeleton villainess grinned.

When Sartana stopped playing, Chapuza felt like a fire had just been doused and his soul iced over again. Her rhythm had caused life to come back to his cold, undead body and when her fingers left those strings he was again… dead. Chapuza blinked at Sartana and at the same time his eyes scolded her for ceasing her magnificent playing.

"My curiosity drove me to investigate dis fiesta but dese old bones need to cut loose once in a while." Sartana smirked as she played out a small Latin riff. Chapuza shut his eyes and gritted his teeth as the surge of ecstasy hit him again.

Again Sartana stopped.

"But, I've overstayed my welcome." The crafty supervillainess took a step back and turned to the exit. Her smirk remained; she knew the zombies wouldn't let her go.

Chapuza was dazed as he watched Sartana turn from him. Then the feeling of longing pinched shut his throat. Behind him, he heard the other zombies crying and/or blubbering for the two-hundred-year-old skeleton woman to return. Even Che was entranced by her mastery of the guitar.

"Sartana!" Bingo. Hearing her name, the few feet that she had slowly stepped must have seemed like an eternity to the undead corpses.

Looking up, Sartana's scarlet sombrero revealed dangerous crimson eyes that came to Chapuza's yellow ones.

"It seems we have no more music to dance to…" He paused and Sartana saw something that resembled childlike fascination in the ruthless zombie leader's eyes. "Would you like to play for us?"

Something told her that these zombies wouldn't take "no" as an answer. Good thing Sartana was in the mood to party.

"Gladly." Turning she rose her hand over her head and strummed her Mystic Guitar. Immediately the ground rumbled and just a fraction of her skeleton bandito army was summoned to their mistress's side.

The zombies blinked at the skeletons until they saw instruments in their bony hands. Drums, trumpets, congas, timbales, bass, trombones and keyboards; all the makings of something truly supernatural stood behind Sartana. The smug two-hundred-year-old skeleton lady walked back inside the barn, giving Chapuza a flirty wink before she and her procession of skeleton musicians passed.

Sartana came to the back of the barn and her skeleton musicians took their place behind her. As the zombies congregated in front of her, she strummed her black magic guitar. Three platforms shot out of the floor; one for percussion, one for brass and the last for keyboards and bass. Once her band was in place, Sartana smirked at the crowd of zombies, headed by General Chapuza.

"Uno, dos, tres!" At her command the drums, congas and bass slammed a beat through the air; keyboards and brass followed with rhythm.

The zombies felt their feet start to twitch as the melody began seeping from the air into their bodies. The urge to move could not be contained any longer and the undead began dancing. The live music penetrated a part of his soul that Chapuza though died on the day of his funeral. The drums and congas pumped a heartbeat, the keyboards made blood move through his dry veins and the brass heated his body. But it wasn't until Sartana raised her fingers and plucked out that first melody that everything harmonized to bring him to life. Ecstasy filled him and Chapuza couldn't stop his body from moving with the magic.

Sartana let her passions: anger, hate, love, heartbreak and joy flood from her two-hundred-year-old soul and engulf her guitar strings. Her Mystic Guitar sang with melody and made something flat-out amazing.

Glancing up, the supreme undead villainess of Miracle City gazed at the effect of her playing. A smile of genuine amusement covered her bleached skull face. The zombies were dancing with such passion, that she couldn't help but admire. There was something about music that put a fire in the most dead of bodies; Sartana included herself in that. How else could she persuade the dead to obey her than playing her guitar?

Horns, drums, keyboards and guitar played deep into the night. The undead danced and made music until the tiny hours of the morning. Finally, when undead bones and flesh began to separate, did Chapuza take a break from dancing.

Standing off to the side, the zombie leader watched the skeleton band play and his grandson and other zombies dance until they dropped. Chapuza grinned as he watched Che do every dance that he'd ever learned. The undead boy still had reason to celebrate life; after all Che had only been dead for a short while, so there was still means to celebrate. Looking over his party, Chapuza's yellow eyes stumbled upon Sartana's. The undead skeleton lady stood off to the side glancing over the fiesta, much like he was. Her glowing crimson eyes met his and they blazed in a whole new light. Tonight he saw a side of her that he thought only existed in the living; a passionate, magical realm that he felt she never let anyone see.

Suddenly Sartana of the Dead smiled at him. With a tilt of her scarlet sombrero, she motioned for him to follow. With that she quietly walked out of the pulsing barn. Chapuza blinked and weighed in the risks and benefits of following Sartana. But before common sense encroached upon his curiosity, Chapuza moved after her.

The night was black and the stars were shining over the graveyard. The music from the barn faded slightly with the distance but the bass could still be felt thought the ground. Sartana stood at the threshold of the cemetery and looked over the headstones from the iron fence. Death was such a beautiful sight. Quiet, unyielding and calm; complete opposite from the living. In Sartana's opinion, the world would be a better place if it was dead. Graveyards, mortuaries and memorials were where Sartana felt at home the most. Then she heard footsteps come up from behind her.

General Chapuza saw Sartana standing at the entrance of his graveyard. For once, he thought of retreating back toward the barn; he was now alone and vulnerable with this black magic woman. Still, he felt his feet being drawn toward her.

All too soon Chapuza stood beside the two-hundred-year-old skeleton lady, looking at her without saying a word. Sartana looked up at him and a grin was on her face. With another tilt of her head, she motioned for him to walk with her through the graveyard. Stepping through the iron fence, Sartana looked to be completely at home with the dead. To Chapuza, following her wasn't an option; it was the only thing in his mind.

Sticking to the gravel walkway, both zombie and skeleton walked silently through the cemetery. Chapuza noted that there was a contented grin on Sartana's skull face that refused to leave as they quietly walked along. Nothing to say came to his mind anyway. Sartana knew that the zombie leader was stealing glances at her as he wondered what to say.

"Every year chu throw dis party." The skeleton lady started. "Why?"

Chapuza squeezed his hands together; a subtle reminder to maintain as much of the idea of an innocent party as possible.

"Like I said, Sartana; just a little fiesta to celebrate living dead." He returned. Sartana let out a silky, gravely chuckle.

"Oh really?" She returned looking the undead man in the eye, eluding that she might know his secret. Chapuza didn't flinch.

"Sí. Just something to break de monotony Calavara. The undead need to cut loose once in a while or eternal life would seem rather boring. Wouldn't chu agree?" He calmly returned, his face straight and honest. Sartana maybe would have bought that… if she didn't have the knowledge of everyone who had passed away.

"I do. Irritating de living keeps dese old bones from crumbling and a celebración held every year to celebrate a funeral isn't such a bad idea." The skeleton woman tipped her hat up and locked eyes with Chapuza. "Chu t'ink chu can keep de day of chur funeral a secret from me?"

There was a smug look on her face. Chapuza let his eyes close for a second. Caught in a lie… by Sartana of the Dead no less. He felt a smirk curl onto his face. It was kinda pointless; she was Sartana of the DEAD. Anything that dies has to pass by her once in a while.

"Keeping dis day's importance a secret is taxing some years so I am alegre that you know." Without losing an ounce of his cool demeanor, Chapuza confessed to his charade.

The two-hundred-year-old skeleton lady stopped walking. Following her cue, Chapuza stopped his slow gate as well.

"Why do chu do dis every year? Do chu miss being alive?" Her eyes narrowed slightly as she placed a hand on the neck of her black magic guitar. The zombie man simply observed her suddenly hostile movements but kept his placid demeanor even in the face of his answer getting him blown into a pile of ash.

"Sometimes." Chapuza admitted. "But de whole reason I hold this party is to remind me of when I died. Back den, I had blood in my veins and I was afraid of death. Now… I embrace it."

He turned his head, casting his eyes to the gravestones and heard his undead bones crackle with his movements.

"Some of my memories I must keep alive or I will lose them." Returning his yellow eyes to Sartana's glowing crimson ones, he found her face straight as she studied him. "I hardly recall feeling vulnerable."

That made a charmed smirk curl onto Sartana's face.

"Dat was so long ago for me, but I've gladly forgotten about dat time. Now dat I'm dead, I feel more alive den ever." She reached out and her bony fingers played with the buttons on Chapuza's jacket. THAT… threw off his pattern of thought. "Now I'm having too much fun to ever regret dying."

"Regret is such a strong word." Chapuza felt Sartana's hand wander up his jacket and play with his collar. "I believe in only sustaining my memories."

Sartana hummed in acknowledgement.

"Den why do chu zombies enjoy dancing so much?" She questioned, running her finger back down the front of his jacket.

Chapuza looked up into the sky for a second, enjoying her touch.

"Because de beat of the music pulses in place of our disintegrated heart." He answered. Sartana looked into his eyes.

"Isn't dat de same t'ing as regret?" She withdrew her hand from his chest. Chapuza shook his head.

"Just reliving a memory, Sartana." He returned. "And zombies cannot resist good music."

He was grateful for Sartana crashing his party. She brought a new life to ordinary music that made this year stand out among all the previous years. Sartana of the Dead placed her hands back onto her guitar as she smirked.

"My music has a way of stealing a soul." With that she played a soft cord that made Chapuza melt. It made the zombie leader question the ecstasy that pumped through his body.

Was he under the influence of her Mystic Guitar? The starry sky? Or was it really something about Sartana that made him feel alive again?

Then her fingers left her guitar again. Sartana knew she had the undead man eating out of her hand. Nothing dead could resist the powers of her black magic guitar. Sartana watched as Chapuza's eyes focused on her as he dropped out of ecstasy.

"Beauty and grace is what touches me most." He told her. "You will have to play for me more often."

Sartana smirked at him.

"Gladly, Chapuza." Again her hand strummed her steel strings, sending Chapuza to ecstasy again.

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R&R! LONG LIVE ROCK!


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